By Michael Musto
By Capt. James Van Thach told to Jonathan Wei
By Kera Bolonik
By Michael Musto
By Nick Pinto
By Steve Weinstein
By Michael Musto
By Michael Musto
Mets 0, Cardinals 5
To say that Steve Trachsel had nothing tonight is to insult the void. He sucked the life right out of the Mets, and even St. Louis fans, with the possible exception of Jeff Suppan's mother, would have to acknowledge that this was a flat, dull game.
Meanwhile, the majority of the Cardinals have started to look very much the same to me: very white and slightly confused. Chris Carpenter, Jim Edmonds, Scott Rolen, Tyler Johnson, Adam Wainwright, Josh Kinney, Braden Looper, Jeff Weaver, and Chris Duncan all fit this description, and Scott Spiezio would be on the list but for his staggeringly ill-advised facial haira bright-red formation I can only describe as a landing strip, which actually scares my dog when it appears on television.
Sunday, October 15: Game 4
Mets 12, Cardinals 5
This series may not have been pretty, but it certainly had its share of drama. The Met outlook went from bleak to rainbows and puppies in just 24 hours, as Delgado continued to take out 12 years' worth of playoff-less frustration on innocent bystanders, and Oliver Perez pitched better than anyone had any right to expect.
The postseason's small sample size plays hell with statistics, which is always sort of funhence Josh Hancock's ERA for this series is, after tonight's game, 162.
Tuesday, October 17: Game 5
Cardinals 4, Mets 2
. . . Aaaaand Mets fans picked up their panicking right where they left off Saturday. Tom Glavine didn't pitch that badly, but lost his 35th career playoff start to whatever machine, alien, or clone has replaced the real Jeff Weaver. I don't claim to know who made the switch, or how, or whybut I am familiar with Jeff Weaver, and that, my friends, is not Jeff Weaver. They'll find him wandering naked in the woods somewhere in November, unharmed but with absolutely no memory of the last six weeks.
Cardinals fans are widely hailed as the "greatest fans in the world," but after careful consideration, I'm not buying it. The stands, at least as captured by Fox cameras, are full of wholesome, smiling, politely cheering folks clad in attractive sweaters; it's like a baseball game as imagined in a J. Crew ad, only less ethnically diverse. "They do a pretty good job of not booing their players and stuff like that," said Cliff Floyd the next day, back at a vibrating Shea Stadium. "This place will make you look in the mirror."
Wednesday, October 18: Game 6
Mets 4, Cardinals 2
David Wright and Carlos Delgado work closely together on preparations to miss a routine pop-up in Game 7.
photo: Anthony J. Causi
Another ear-shattering crowd: When the Mets scored, the upper deck literally swayedsomewhat disconcerting when you're sitting in the mezzanine. Remembering the terrors of the ninth inning last year and perhaps determined to teach Cardinal fans a little something about bloodlust, the fans booed ex-Met closer Braden Looper off the mound. But his replacement, Billy Wagner, once again made things interesting in the ninth, giving up two runs before locking down the save. In the clubhouse, after dissecting the inning for a claustrophobia-inducing wall of cameras, Wagner spotted John Francoback at Shea as a commentatorand exhaled deeply. "Jesus," he said, and the two of them withdrew to a corner to commiserate.
This was the perfect Met winReyes leading off with a homer and stealing bases, a clutch hit by Lo Duca, and a truly above-and-beyond performance by rookie John Maine. Wright and Shawn Green argued after the game about which of them had called Reyes's homer. Everything seemed set up perfectly for a happy ending.
Thursday, October 19: Game 7
Cardinals 3, Mets 1
It's a strange twist of the human psyche that the best-played losses are often the hardest to take. The Yankees went down like lead against the Tigers, and as a result, the loss was aggravating and disappointingbut it was never that close and therefore not the kind of game you find yourself replaying endlessly in January. This, however, was one of those games. The Mets were so perfectly set up for one of the greatest postseason comebacks in recent memorybottom of the ninth, bases loaded, two outs, Beltran at the plate . . . I'm not even really a Met fan, but this game broke my heart.
Endy Chavez's catch will be remembered, though not as well as it would be if they'd won, and probably not as well as it deserves. I've never seen anything like it in person; even the beat reporters jumped to their feet. "Under the circumstances, it's one of the best plays I've ever seen," said Glavine. "Thank God it wasn't me," said a hobbling Floyd. It was impossible to witness that catch and not feel that fate was with the Mets.
Still, after the loss, the team took Willie Randolph's advice, and kept their heads up. They were acutely disappointed but still proud of their season, and had anyone raised the possibility that perhaps Randolph might be fired, they would have been laughed out of Flushing. The Cardinal locker room, meanwhile, squishy with champagne and beer, brought back unpleasant memories of seedy frat parties.
Since my first day in the Met clubhouse, I wondered about the team's remarkable geniality and closenessdoes that just happen, or had Omar Minaya done this on purpose? How much had he taken personality into account in forming this team? Isn't it hard enough to find a decent pitcher without worrying about whether he can play well with others? Minaya himself has the reputation of being a "good guy," as everyone puts it, both with reporters and, perhaps more tellingly, with the workers at Shea, who almost to a man will nod approvingly when he passes. And although the season was now over, chemistry and charisma be damned, I still wanted to know.
"I'm very careful about who we bring in here," Minaya said. "You know, put a whole bunch of humans together, you don't know how it's going to work out. But it did work out." Almost.
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